reached for his pipe which lay on the table.

"Try this," urged Carmichael, offering his pouch.

"This will be good tobacco, I know." The vintner filled his pipe.

Carmichael followed this gift with many questions about wines and
vintages; and hidden in these questions were a dozen clever traps. But
the other walked over them, unhesitant, with a certainty of step which
chagrined the trapper.

By and by the vintner rose and bade his table-companion a good night. He
had not offered to buy anything, another sign puzzling to Carmichael.
This frugality was purely of the thrifty peasant. But the vintner was
not ungrateful, and he expressed many thanks. On his way to the door he
stopped, whispered into Gretchen's ear, and passed out into the black
street.

"Either he is a fine actor, or he is really what he says he is."
Carmichael was dissatisfied. "I'll stake my chances on being president
of the United States, which is safe enough as a wager, that this fellow
is not genuine. I'll watch him. I've stumbled upon a pretty romance of
some sort, but I fear that it is one-sided." He wrinkled his forehead,
but that part of his recollection he aimed to stir remained fallow, in
darkness.

The press in the room was thinning. There were vacant chairs here and
there now. A carter sauntered past and sat down unconcernedly at the
table occupied by the old man whose face Carmichael had not yet seen.
The two exchanged not even so much as a casual nod. A little later a